


4. A Mere Mortal

by sahiya



Series: Five Times Someone Took Care of Neal and One Time He Did the Care-Taking [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:46:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh my God, are you <i>sick</i>?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	4. A Mere Mortal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OzQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, OzQueen!

“Oh my God, are you _sick_?”

As reactions went, Neal thought, that one wasn’t going to win any awards. Sara seemed to realize it, too, because she immediately added, “Sorry, I just - why didn’t you call?”

“I tried,” Neal said. For exactly this reason. “Your phone went to voicemail all day.” He’d emailed her, too, but he only had her personal email, and she never checked it at work. 

“Oh,” Sara said, pulling her phone out. “I was in meetings all day. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Neal said. He leaned against the doorjamb. He felt like several miles of bad road, and he really just wanted to lie back down. He’d spent most of the afternoon horizontal once Peter had sent him home, either sleeping or wishing he was asleep, but it didn’t seem to have helped much. “I think we should just reschedule.”

“Yeah,” Sara said, eyeing him. “Unless . . .”

“What?”

“Unless you wanted me to stay.”

Neal blinked. Of all the people in his life, Sara was the last one he’d ever thought would offer to mop his fevered brow - and that included Reese Hughes. “Uh,” he said, eloquently. 

“Or not,” Sara said swiftly. She was smiling, but Neal had the sudden sense that he’d offended her. She took a step back. “That’s fine, call me when you’re feeling better and we can -”

“No, no,” Neal said. “Don’t go. I was just surprised, that’s all. Do you _want_ to stay?”

“Well, I do seem to have a sudden hole in my social calendar,” Sara said. “But if you’d rather be alone, I understand. I don’t love people seeing me when I’m sick.”

“Too late to worry about that now,” Neal said. He had hoped to avoid it by getting ahold of her sooner, but now she’d seen him in all his bedraggled glory: bed-head, bathrobe, covered in feverish sweat, and sniffling. “I’ve been alone all afternoon. If you want to stay, I’d love the company.”

“I’d like to stay, then,” Sara said, and Neal stepped aside to let her in. 

The apartment was a mess compared to Neal’s usual standards, but Sara had the good grace to pretend not to notice. She ushered Neal back to the sofa and made him sit. He stretched out under a throw and watched in bemusement as she poked around in the fridge, eventually surfacing with a glass of white wine for herself and a glass of orange juice for Neal. 

“It looks like our options are soup or - how old is this Chinese food?” she asked, peering into a take-out container. 

“Only a couple of days, it should be okay,” Neal said. “But the soup is Elizabeth’s homemade chicken noodle if you want some. Peter swears by its healing properties.”

“Thanks, but I think you’re more in need of those than I am.” Sara dumped some vegetable chow mein in a bowl and stuck it in the microwave. Then she poured some of the soup into a small pot and set it to heating on the stove before bringing the orange juice and the wine over to the sofa. Neal started to sit up to make room, but she just set the drinks down on the coffee table and lifted his feet, sliding in beneath them. She settled them in her lap and handed him his orange juice, all without commentary. 

She sipped her wine, and Neal sipped his juice while trying to ignore the fact that none of this obeyed any of the rules of their relationship thus far. 

“So,” Sara said, “even the great Neal Caffrey is subject to the vagaries of the human immune system.”

“I am but a mere mortal,” Neal admitted. “But don’t tell anyone, it’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Sara said with a smile. 

A brief, companionable silence fell. One of her hands, Neal realized after a moment, rested lightly on his foot. As they sat, her thumb started to move back and forth over its arch. It wasn’t anything so purposeful as a massage, but it felt good, and he didn’t want it to stop. He barely moved for fear that it would. 

Sadly, it did stop when the microwave dinged. Sara got up to fetch her chow mein and his soup, which he had to sit up to eat. It was hot and delicious and it warmed him down to his bones when he’d been feeling chilled all day from fever. He felt sleepy and content by the time he finished it, and when Sara came back from clearing away the dishes, he curled up against her on the sofa without allowing himself to think too much about it. 

“You’re warm and you smell good,” he mumbled by way of explanation.

“You’re like a cat when you’re sick, Caffrey,” she said, sounding amused. She picked up the remote and started channel surfing. She settled on an old movie Neal didn’t recognize, though the actors were vaguely familiar. He’d probably have been able to place them if his brain were functioning at more than half-speed. 

“I’m going to fall asleep,” he warned her.

“I figured. As long as you wake up so I don’t have to carry your ass to bed, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Neal said, and fell asleep like he’d stepped off a cliff. 

Some time later, Neal was woken by someone shaking his shoulder and murmuring for him to wake up. He blinked his eyes open and Sara’s face swam into view. “There you are,” she said. “I thought I was going to have to carry you after all.”

“Mmm,” Neal said, sitting up. “What time is it?”

“After ten,” she said. “I need to get home, and you need to spend the night in your bed.”

He caught her hand. “You don’t have to go. You could stay.” 

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Do you need to me to stay?”

He dredged up what should have been a winning smile for her, though he suspected it fell rather short. “Define ‘need.’”

Sara rolled her eyes. “If you’re well enough to try and con me, then you don’t need to me to stay over. Come on, up and into bed.”

Neal sighed and grumbled, but he let her drag him off the sofa. He brushed his teeth and used the bathroom, then came back out to find her changing the pillow cases on his bed. With anyone else, he would have thanked them, but he knew better with Sara than to mention it at all. He did let out a sigh of contentment as he climbed into bed and lay his head on them. She turned the bedside light out, casting the apartment into darkness aside from the ever-present ambient light from the windows. 

“Good night, Caffrey,” she said, and bent to brush her lips against his forehead. 

In the dark, Neal smiled. “Good night, Sara,” he murmured, and fell asleep as she let herself out.


End file.
